


One Year Later

by campylobacter



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Epilogue, Established Relationship, F/M, Illustrated, Missing Scene, POV First Person, Pregnant Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campylobacter/pseuds/campylobacter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Daniel find the strength to survive that year without everyone he loves after Ba'al changed history? "Continuum" missing scene and movie tag. 1st Place Fanfic Winner of the 5th Anniversary Daniel & Vala Contest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year Later

**Author's Note:**

> DEDICATED TO: Hummingfly, and her "wishful" notion that Vala was pregnant with Daniel's baby during Continuum, and to Shakespherical, who was unhappy with what Daniel said to Vala before leaving for lunch with the rest of SG-1.
> 
> I initially resisted the notion that Vala was pregnant in Continuum until I found a way for Daniel to survive her loss. I'm also borrowing Shakespherical's fanon of Ba'al's host having come from Nippur of Sumer during the Uruk Period, per her story "Space" (also archived on Heliopolis 2).

[](http://community.livejournal.com/daniel_vala/521254.html)  


Part 1

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/gallery/00047aqq?page=3) [](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000ce0fz/g119) [](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000cfxtw/g119)

When the bookstore owner rings up my purchase, I distract him with smalltalk as he turns to the back cover to pass the handheld scanner over the barcode, in the hope that he doesn't see the photo of the wide-eyed, over-caffeinated author with unkempt hair. I ask for a bag to carry it home in.

The gargantuan 70% off sticker peels off easily, revealing a smaller 50% off sticker, which covers a 40% off sticker, and finally, the Pyramid of Khafre. The name emblazoned on the cover is one nobody's called me for exactly one year. Making the identity of the author of_The Truth About the Pyramids_ even more remote is his misguided choice of wearing heavy black plastic eyeglass frames and an old plaid polyester/cotton short-sleeved shirt that Sarah hated and gave to Goodwill on my behalf.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000cggqg/g119)  


Which answers that question. In this timeline, not only is Dr. Sarah Gardner (according to her Facebook page) overseeing the cataloging of cylinder seals lost in the looting of the Baghdad Archaeological Museum during the Iraq War, but we've never been close enough for her to edit my wardrobe. Yet fortunately for her, Osiris is still a figure in the pantheon of Ancient Egypt, not a Goa'uld System Lord who took her as host.

As I flip through the pages, the sketch of a cenotaph in Abydos—the Ancient Egyptian locale, not the planet—triggers a memory of Sha're's delicate fingertip tracing a glyph carved in sandstone; she's probably married to Nabeh's older cousin and raising daughters and sons who will mine naquadah or whom Ra will claim for his child harem. For her, the Chappa'ai brings only more oppression, not the chance for liberation. Yet she and her brother and father are alive, in the nearest solar system, if Ra (or Ba'al) hasn't killed them.

Dr. Jordan and the UC Oriental Institute are mentioned in the bibliography, but not in the acknowledgements. The dedication reads:

>   
> 
> 
> _In memoriam_  
>  Dr. Melburn Jackson and Dr. Claire Ballard-Jackson  
>  The memory of your undying belief in me  
>  when no one else does  
>  is my sole source of strength.  
> 

The only acknowledgements given are for the publisher, illustrator and editor, in glowing, lonely prose.

I want to tell the author that it doesn't matter who I am, but that I'm someone who believes in my—his work, and that he should, too.

When I gather the courage to call Dr. Jackson at that little hotel in Cairo where I'd always been welcome to stay for cheap on a month-to-month basis, my intended pep talk is cut short by a choice Egyptian Arabic insult amid the background noise of a televised soccer game. Seems that Daniel Jackson, PhD and I have something in common in this timeline: no one is willing to listen to him.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000cht8d/g119)  


One year. One year since I hugged Sam goodbye. She didn't bother to hide her tears, but she did whisper an email address into my ear. Mitchell fought back tears, but let his grip on my neck say what he couldn't. Encrypted messages disguised as spam are no substitute for hearing their voices. Knowing they're alive has been _my_ sole source of strength.

Knowing that Teal'c's probably alive as Apophis' First Prime offers some consolation; his wife and son will be ensured status and honor. But Apophis will have had Bra'tac killed to reduce his influence on the Free Jaffa movement.

Missing Vala, however, is like missing a limb; I can feel her loss, a phantom pain, a persistent itch, or a dull ache, fooling me into thinking that I still have a leg, or a wife, or the unborn child she carried before she was swept from our timeline, no doubt unwillingly safeguarding more Goa'uld spawn to enslave more Jaffa to Ba'al's service. I miss even the arguments we had when she insisted that 'Gate travel doesn't harm a fetus, and that nothing would keep her from witnessing Ba'al's extraction.

Jack still has Sara and Charlie; General Landry has a pleasant retirement with a wife he never divorced. I have a book written in my name that I never authored, which includes an entire chapter on Hathor, drawings of a sarcophagus that's never been discovered, and a passing mention of Qetesh as consort to Min and Resep.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000ckdd9/g119)  


Our son would've been eight months old by now.

Some mornings I wake with the sound of her breathing against my skin, with the feel of her curled into my side, with the taste of her on my lips. With the leg I'd lost, tangled with hers.

I'm not sure I can make it through another year.

Part 2

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000cpqyt/g119) [](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000cqrwz/g119)

"So… Teal'c wants to know if Ba'al's host had an interesting afternoon."

"Daniel!" Vala stops unwrapping the MRE in her lap and looks up at me. "I wasn't expecting you to return."

"I figured you'd be hungry by now, what with all the morning sickne—" I pause as I notice her frown. "You didn't throw up on him, did you?"

She stands and tucks the partially-opened energy bar back into her vest. "Of course not. Have you come back to apologize, ply me with gifts of food, or haul me back to the SGC?"

"How about a kiss and a promise to give you a foot rub?"

Vala recoils and wrinkles her nose when I lean in to kiss her. "No kisses until you wash off O'Malley's onion rings and corned beef."

"You can smell that?" The only time she'd been to O'Malley's had been a year ago, with me, Sam and Teal'c for a long lunch off base before I'd left for England.

"Yes, I can. It's charming that General O'Neill frequents that establishment whenever he's in town from a sense of nostalgia over the glory of old barroom brawls, but I fail to understand why he'd actually pay to eat the rancid-smelling cuisine, however reasonably priced it may be." She pulls me into a side room off the stone corridor. "And although I did retch from the smoke of Ba'al's cremation in a Tok'ra brazier, I did _not_ vomit on the former Captain of the High Guard of the Shrine of Enlil. I _did_ make it to a nearby slop bucket."

"Shrine of Enlil, huh? It's just like Ba'al to take another god's worshipper as host." I notice an alabaster ewer of clear water on an ornate plinth; Jack would marvel that this ceremonial cleansing chamber is the closest thing to a bathroom inside a Tok'ra pyramid. "Anyhow, I hope you had fun _not_ throwing up on the Captain."

"Don't use the water in the basin," she snaps. "Use the fountain; it's not perfumed."

A pregnant woman's elevated estrogen level, I'm convinced, makes her develop superpowers that include a nauseatingly acute sense of smell, an overactive instinct to nurture the helpless, darkened nipples that are sensitive to the slightest touch, and a desire for sex that rivals a man's ability to perform it. (Although I'm more than happy to test my own limits.) I splash water over my face and hair, then vigorously dry my head with the linen hanging from a chalcedony hook. She likes this look on me, and I leave my eyeglasses in my vest.

"Did he mention the city of Nippur at all?" I ask as I turn to face her.

"Yes, I believe he did; we couldn't get him to say much beyond that." She casts a sly, appraising look at my damp head. "His full memory of conversational Goa'uld and English should return soon. Although I thought you'd have jumped at the chance to hear authentic Ancient Sumerian."

"Right now," I say, leaning down to claim my kiss, "I'm more interested in getting my wife back home."

As our lips meet, the sound of footsteps outside the chamber alerts us to the approach of the Tok'ra Elder charged with escorting us to the 'Gate.

"Have you ever done it in a pyramid?" she whispers.

The footsteps stop outside the chamber.

"Yes," I answer.

"So have I," she says, shrugging. "Let's go home."

Later that evening, after I've watched her eat five slices of plain wheat toast, half a bag of salad-ready spinach, a pile of strawberries, and a bowl of double chocolate fudge brownie ice cream, I'm embedded deep inside her and treated to a delectable view of her naked, flawless backside. From this angle over the arm of the couch, I can't see her burgeoning belly, but I can feel its smooth, rounded fullness with my hand as I ease in and out of her. The lines of taut muscle in her arms, thighs, and upper body have softened and bloomed with pregnancy, creating a glowing sculpture of warm, pliant flesh that tastes of undefinable allure. Her hair shines with an extra gloss, the black tresses slithering through my fingers in an invitation to bury my face in the dark, fragrant curtain.

"Daniel," she gasps with barely audible coherence, looking over shoulder, "more."

"More?" She's already screamed twice into the throw pillow during the past twenty minutes. I push in a little faster, and move my hand from her belly to her breast, which sways with each of my thrusts. I graze the erect nipple across my palm; she reacts immediately.

"Yes," she moans, raising her rear end higher.

"Vala, you gotta turn around for me." I need to see her face, her heavy-lidded eyes unfocused in bliss, her soft curves gleaming with the sweat of our exertions.

"Please…" she groans, matching my thrusts with more force, "so close…"

"I, I'm…" I'm not sure I can make it through another one her orgasms without ending this too soon. I need a distraction. Think of something unsexy. The way Mitchell belches after drinking beer. The grubby canister of soldering flux in Sam's lab. Teal'c's habit of mixing ketchup with mustard. Jack's—

"Uhnghh…!" Vala screams into the upholstery. A rush of fluid soaks my groin as she trembles and relaxes around my cock. I reflexively ram in harder to feel all of it.

Teal'c's condiment-covered corn dogs. Jack's glow-in-the-dark fishing lure.

Oh god, it's not working. Vala presses one of her feet closer to her beautiful ass and I can see her toes curl.

SGC requisition forms.

Yep, that does it. I'm farther away from the edge now.

I wait until she stops quivering, pull out, and flip her on her back onto the couch. Strands of hair cling to her face and lips; her heaving breaths animate the perfection of her rounded body. The tip of her tongue glides over her upper teeth, and I dive down to kiss her. She moans and grabs the back of my head to pull me closer.

My penis throbs from being outside the wet heat of her vagina. I want to see myself re-enter her slowly, see the way the tip of my cock spreads her folds and sinks into the best sheath a sword ever had, but I don't want to stop kissing her, so I rub the length of my shaft over the slick, swollen lips the same way I run my tongue over the lips of her mouth.

She moans, then gasps suddenly, breaking the kiss. "Your baby's rolling," she says, and guides my hand to her midsection. I feel the slightest flutter under my fingertips. "He must approve of all this activity," she laughs.

"Probably drugged by all the endorphins," I chuckle. "But Dad still hasn't had his turn." Now's my opportunity to watch myself enter her. It's the re-enactment of an ancient ritual: my erect member anointed by festival waters, the fertility goddess welcoming the plow to the furrow, the song of praise escaping both our throats in guttural pleasure as I plunge inside her. Although my artistic talents are limited, I thoroughly understand a sculptor's motivation to carve a fetish in the image of a pregnant woman. I worship Vala's curves with my hands, worship her fertility with the instrument of my own fertility, worship our union with fast, hard thrusts until I'm poised on the edge of my climax.

"Come for me, darling," she whispers. Her half-closed eyes look almost hazel in the lamplight, not their usual, elusive silver.

I obey.

The sensation is sharp and exquisite, a jolt of energy from the base of my neck to the base of my spine, a burst of delight that inundates me, inundates her, and continues for a long, sweet minute.

When the room stops spinning, I find myself panting facedown with a hank of her hair in mouth, my forehead covered with more of her hair. "Oh my god," I groan.

She giggles in my ear. "Oh, there you are. Did you miss me?"

I puff her hair out of my mouth. "I miss you with every fiber of my being when you're not around," I murmur against her neck, and wait until my breathing slows to add, "Your absence is like an amputation."

"Mmm... amputation. Darling, you're such a romantic."

"I, I'm not sure why I said that," I counter, raising myself on my elbows to look down at her. "And I'm not sure how I could live without you."

"You seemed eager enough to ditch me for a free corned beef sandwich," she pouts in a half-mocking tone as she pinches my ass.

"Ow. Hey, do you think I might've lost a leg or something during those fifty years in the time dilation?" I ask as I scratch a sudden itch on my left leg, below the knee.

"Anything's possible. Sometimes I have nightmares of miscarrying our baby, but it's always on the _Odyssey_, never here, in Colorado Springs."

"It's normal for pregnant women to have nightmares like that, I think. Don't worry, both of you will be fine," I tell her as I settle down next to her and pull her close. "Still wish I could remember what Teal'c remembers—if the concept of 'memory' even applies to multiverse theory. Although I'm afraid that those memories might not include you." I try to suppress an involuntary shudder. "I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without you."

"Daniel," she says, drawing her fingertip across my lips, "all you need to remember is that I came back from having been burnt to death to be in your arms. And that I'm someone who believes in you, even when you don't."

I believe her; something tells me that this is all I need to know, regardless of the tricks the universe plays on us. I kiss her finger and hook my left leg around hers.

A wicked smile quirks the side of her mouth. "I wish I _had_ thrown up on Ba'al after he'd been extracted."

"Yeah, I thought you might."

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000cr6zh/g119) [](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000cstcw/g119)

**Author's Note:**

> Be thankful that I resisted including Cam Mitchell quoting "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas.
> 
> *I edited this in 2014 to correct an egregious canon error: Teal'c &amp; Bra'tac served Apophis, not Ba'al, as I'd originally written &amp; submitted to the contest.


End file.
